


Love Him From Where You Are

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: Five times Roger was sure that Brian didn’t love him, and one time he knew that he did.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, background Brian May/Chrissie Mullen
Comments: 9
Kudos: 104





	Love Him From Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr @rushingheadlong for the LOC Event.
> 
> Title is from the Smile song "Polar Bear" (which you should definitely listen to if you haven't yet). This isn't entirely accurate with regards to specific details (like living arrangements and the timeline of Brian dating Chrissie) but it's good enough for fic.

_**1968** _

“He doesn’t swing that way, you know.”

Roger, who had been looking out the window of the small pub where Smile just finished playing a gig, glances over at Tim. The comment came out of nowhere and Roger isn’t feigning confusion when he says, “The fuck are you talking about?”

Tim has his head propped up on one hand, his other tapping against the tabletop. He had left the stage full of energy and riding the high of their show, as they all had, but now he’s quieter and a little withdrawn as he glances out over the room instead of looking directly at Roger. “Brian. He’s not interested in men.”

Roger’s heart leaps into his throat as he suddenly, painfully, is all too aware of what Tim is hinting at. “Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies as he reaches for his drink with a hand that’s not quite as steady as he wants it to be. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t,” Tim says dryly. He’s still not really looking at Roger, which the drummer appreciates, because it makes it easier to listen when Tim keeps talking. “I’ve known Brian for a little while now. Four, five years maybe? Long enough that I’ve seen him in plenty of social situations to know where his interests lie. He may be shit at talking to girls, but at least he talks to ‘em. I’ve never, not once, seen him even look twice at a guy.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt,” Tim says. He finally looks over at Roger and Roger knows that he wasn’t slick enough to keep the look of genuine surprise off his face. Tim smiles at him, a little crookedly but still sincere enough, and adds, “Listen, Rog, whatever - or whoever - you do in your free time, I don’t give a shit. Really couldn’t care less. But you’re a good guy and I don’t want you to get your hopes up chasing something that’s never going to happen.”

Roger takes another sip of his drink and mulls over the bassist’s words. He hasn’t known Tim for very long, all things considered, but Roger can’t think of a single reason why he would lie about this. He doesn’t stand anything to gain from it - Roger has seen Tim go home with plenty of girls since joining Smile to know where he stands - and it’s clear from the tone and secrecy of the conversation that he’s not trying to humiliate Roger either. 

That doesn’t stop Roger from being embarrassed, though. He knew that his growing crush on his bandmate wasn’t going to lead anywhere good, but he at least thought that he was hiding it well.

“Does he know?” Roger asks after a moment. He’s dreading Tim’s answer, but if Brian has also picked up on this he’d rather know about it now so he can quit the band and disappear before having to face the humiliation of Brian trying to gently let him down.

Tim laughs outright at the question, which is enough of an answer even before he says, “Mate, you could tell Brian that you fancy him to his face and I still don’t think he’d really understand what you’re saying. Trust me, he doesn’t know anything.”

Roger snorts and mutters, “Yeah, that sounds about right for him,” before draining the rest of his glass. 

Part of him wishes that Brian wasn’t so oblivious to social advances from others, because then he could just flirt with the guitarist to figure out if Brian returned his interest - but if what Tim is saying is true and Brian isn’t interested in men at all, then it’s probably for the best that Brian won’t know about Roger’s feelings. At least they’re both spared the embarrassment of it all, that way.

“He-ey!” Brian says loudly as he finally rejoins them at the table with the next round of drinks, which he sets down so roughly that the beer sloshes over the side of the glasses. 

“Watch it, May!” Tim says with a laugh as he pushes one of the drinks over to Roger and takes one for himself. “Christ, you’re such a fucking lightweight.”

“Am not,” Brian says with a laugh as he practically falls into the seat next to Roger. His shoulder knocks into Roger’s as Brian reaches for his drink, and Roger prays that his face isn’t as flushed as it feels. “Just had a few shots at the bar, that’s all.”

“And you didn’t bring any back for us?” Roger mock-complains, trying to ignore the way that Brian’s leg is pressed against his own. 

“Wasn’t buying them for myself,” Brian says. His voice is slurred from the shots he took - or were given to him - at the bar but his smile is small and pleased, like the cat that stole the cream. 

It’s not a look that Roger is used to seeing from Brian, and clearly the alcohol is to thank for it now, but he still finds Brian’s almost-smug expression unbearably attractive. Roger wants to kiss it off his face and lick into Brian’s mouth until he can taste the vodka from those shots himself - but he stops those thoughts before he can let himself get too carried away, and distracts himself with his drink as Tim leers at Brian and asks, “Are you gonna go home with her, then?”

Brian pauses with his own glass halfway to his mouth and looks genuinely confused as he says, “What?”

Tim throws his head back and laughs, loud and raucous, and after a moment Brian falls into a fit of drunken giggling as well. “You really are fucking hopeless, Bri,” Tim says with an exasperated shake of his head. 

“Am not,” Brian mumbles. He slouches against Roger, and Roger knows that he should elbow him away… but he doesn’t. Not even when Brian nuzzles against Roger’s shoulder and his hair brushes against Roger’s neck, and Roger has to shift to relieve the growing tightness in his jeans. 

_Brian is just drunk_ , he tells himself. _This doesn't mean anything._

“Yeah,” Tim says, locking eyes with Roger and giving him a knowing - and slightly pitying - look. “You honestly are.”

_**1970** _

Tim leaves the band with very little fanfare, all things considered. They’ve just finished a gig and Brian and Roger are each a few drinks in when Tim hits them with the news. Later, Roger will remember that Tim hadn’t been drinking himself and he’ll wonder if Tim’s unusual sobriety was supposed to be a warning that something was coming - but in the moment, Roger just feels so gobsmacked by the announcement that he’s not thinking much of anything at all.

“You can’t leave,” Brian says, and the response would sound automatic if there wasn’t a hint of panic behind his words. “You can’t- Tim, _please_.”

“I’m sorry, Brian.” The apology sounds sincere but there’s no remorse in Tim’s eyes as he stands and drains the rest of his drink. “I have to give this a go.”

“Tim,” Brian says as the bassist starts to walk away and then, louder, “ _Tim!_ ’

Roger’s ears are still ringing with static but he finally finds his voice enough to say, “Brian, let him go.”

“No!” Brian says, shaking his head frantically. “No, we need him, we need to get him back-”

“We can find another singer,” Roger cuts in. Brian’s frantic energy is making Roger’s heart race uncomfortably fast in his chest, but he tries to stay calm enough to reason with his friend. “Another bassist, we can- Brian, we can still make this work without him.”

“We can’t!” Brian snaps, and the frustration and anger in his voice feels like a slap in the face to Roger, even though he knows it’s not directed at him. “For fuck’s sake, I’m only still playing because _he_ was the one who wanted to form a new band!”

Roger feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water down his spine. “What the hell are you saying?”

Brian downs the rest of his drink and stands up, muttering, “Sorry, Rog, I just- I need some space.”

“Brian, no, c’mon,” Roger tries to reach for Brian’s arm but the guitarist pulls it out of his reach and, without a backwards glance towards Roger, he too walks away. 

The night goes a little hazy from there, details lost in a blur of alcohol and self-pity and loneliness. Smile was the best thing going for Roger at the moment and losing the band stings, but the memory of Brian pulling away from him, walking away, _leaving him_ makes Roger’s entire chest ache with a pain that doesn’t go away, no matter how much he drinks. 

_I need some space_ , Brian had said, but Roger needs _him_. He needs Brian at his side, he needs to know that their friendship is going to survive this, he needs to know that things will be alright even if it feels like his world is crumbling around him… 

But, apparently, Brian doesn’t need him. 

Somehow, Roger makes it home that night. He knows this only because he wakes up on the sofa in the flat he shares with Freddie and recognizes his surroundings in the split-second before the after-effects of the previous night slam into him like a freight train. Roger doesn’t even try to make it to the bathroom, just leans over the side of the sofa and empties the contents of his stomach onto the living room floor. 

Or what _should_ be the living room floor. A wastebasket is moved under the line of fire at the last second and a gentle hand brushes Roger’s hair out of his face as he heaves until his stomach aches as much as the pounding in his skull and there are tears and snot dripping down his face. 

“Easy, Rog, you’re alright,” a familiar voice says, though it’s not Freddie. Whoever it is wipes a damp washcloth over Roger’s face and helps him lie back down on the sofa, and it’s only then that Roger sees that, for some reason, Brian is the one taking care of him. 

“What are you doing here?” he tries to ask, though talking is difficult and it comes out sounding more like _Whatru d’ng hrr?_

Luckily Brian seems to be able to understand Roger’s slurred words because he smiles, a little uncertainly, and says, “Freddie let me in. I wanted to apologize for running off last night and talk to you about finding a new singer for Smile… but that all can wait until you’re less hungover.”

There are a dozen questions bouncing around Roger’s mind at that, each one only aggravating his headache more until he feels nauseous from the pain all over again, and he settles for mumbling a simple “‘kay” rather than trying to voice any of them. 

Brian brushes Roger’s hair out of his face again, and then his hand moves away and he stands up - and Roger whines, reaching out for him like he did last night, only this time he lets slip a quiet, “ _Stay_ ” that he knows he’ll regret later. 

Brian chuckles, though it’s not malicious, and says, “I’m just getting you some water, Rog. I don’t want my friend dying of dehydration on me today.”

 _Friend._

Right. 

That’s what they are, after all. Just friends, no matter that in this moment of miserable vulnerability Roger wants to pretend that they could be more. He wants to pretend that Brian’s gentle touches hold hidden depths, that his familiarity with the tiny flat is because he’s the one who lives here with Roger rather than Freddie, that Brian is taking care of him because he loves him and not because it’s the sort of thing that the kind-hearted bastard would do for any of his friends… but he knows none of that will ever be true. 

So while Brian fetches a glass of water Roger shores up his heart, pushes down his useless feelings that have spiraled out of control while he wasn’t paying attention, and tells himself to be thankful that Brian didn’t walk out of his life altogether last night alongside Tim. Brian will only ever be his friend, and getting upset at the truth of that won’t change things - no matter how much he wishes that it could.

**_1971_ **

The studio is cold. Roger isn’t sure whether it’s just the chill of the London winter permeating through everything, like it does with his flat and the market stall and their practice room at Imperial College, or if the studio managers don’t feel like wasting the money by heating the place during the off-hours, never mind that that’s the only time Queen can record. 

Some nights the kettle sees more use than Roger’s drum kit as they spend hours recording Brian’s guitar parts or singing backing vocals until no amount of tea can keep their throats from rasping painfully with every breath of dry, cold air. It’s a long, tiring grind but none of them complain because they all know that this demo will be their chance to finally make it. 

(Roger tries not to think about how Smile had recorded demos as well, and how little that meant when Tim got a better offer and walked away. This is different - he knows it is, even if it’s sometimes hard to see that in the early hours of the morning with too little progress to show for a night spent hard at work.)

Freddie sits down next to Roger and slumps tiredly against him, and Roger debates pushing him away for a moment before deciding that he doesn’t have the energy to really care. Besides, Freddie is warm against his side and they’ll all have to get back to recording soon enough, once John returns from wherever he’s disappeared to… and once Chrissie says goodbye to Brian and leaves the studio. 

That relationship is new, still in the honeymoon phase, and given what Roger knows of Brian’s schedule he can’t imagine they manage to see much of each other most days. So it makes sense for her to stop by the recording studio in the evenings to catch up with Brian while they all take a break, but Roger _hates it_. 

It’s not even that he hates _her_. From the few conversations they’ve had, she certainly seems like a nice enough girl and Brian is smitten enough to turn Roger’s stomach. But he still hates seeing the two of them together. He hates the soft smile that Brian gives her. He hates the way she curls up against Brian’s side when they cuddle on the couch. He hates their flirty giggles and Chrissie’s gentle fussing and the kisses they steal when they think no one is watching. 

And Roger hates that he can’t stop watching them. He tries, god, he tries to focus on anything else… but his eyes keep drifting back to the couple - no, to _Brian_. 

To Brian’s hands, lingering on her waist, thumbs pushing her shirt up just enough to brush across bare skin. To Brian’s hair, now grown out and starting to curl again, and how he has to push it out of his face before he leans down to kiss her. To Brian’s mouth, his chapped lips and the way his tongue darts out to lick at them, and to the curve of his nose when he nuzzles at her neck, and to his long legs, spread wide so she can sit between them, fitting against Brian like she was meant to be there. 

Roger wonders if they would fit together just as well, if it was him in Brian’s arms instead of her. He wonders if John would fondly roll his eyes at them, or if Freddie would crack innuendos between takes when they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other… Roger wonders what it would be like to really be able to _look_ at Brian, to stare openly at him instead of stealing glances out of the corner of his eyes, because Brian would be _his_ and not hers. 

The impossibility of it all still stings, but after all these years there’s a familiarity to the pain that Roger can’t let go of, like a sore tooth that he keeps worrying at with his tongue long after the point where he should stop. 

“You might want to stop staring at Chrissie all the time, darling, unless you’re looking for a fight with Brian,” Freddie says out of the blue. Roger drags his eyes away from the couple and over to Freddie. The singer’s tone was mild when he spoke but there’s a slight furrow in his brows that belies his true concern. 

“Wasn’t staring at her,” Roger says. “Just zoned out.”

“Hmm,” Freddie hums. “You do seem to _zone out_ quite a bit when she’s around, though.”

Roger sighs, and shrugs Freddie off his shoulder. “Piss off, Fred,” he says, though there’s no heat behind it. “I’m not fucking staring at Chrissie, I promise.”

“So it’s just coincidence then?” Freddie challenges. Roger doesn’t bother responding to that and Freddie huffs a little and says, “Fine. But don’t come to me when Brian-” He cuts off with a sharp inhale and Roger knows that his charade is up, even before Freddie says, more tentatively than before, “Rog, are you…?”

“Does it matter?” Roger cuts in, before Freddie can finish the question that Roger doesn’t want to hear. “He has Chrissie now.”

“It seems to matter an awful lot to you,” Freddie says softly. “Did you ever say something to him?”

Roger knows that Freddie isn’t likely to let the subject go now that he’s started it so he steals himself and musters up the energy to confess, “No. There was never any point in saying anything, because I didn’t think he was interested in men.”

There’s a beat of silence before Freddie asks, “Are you quite sure about that, dear?”

Roger closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall behind him. He feels tired down to his very bones, and it’s not entirely due to the lateness of the hour. “No,” he admits. Tim had seemed certain of that, back at the beginning, but Roger has spent too long watching Brian from afar and he’s not sure of anything anymore. “But even if he is, he’s not interested in _me_.”

“How can you know that if you never said anything-”

“Because it’s been three years, Fred,” Roger interrupts. “Three years of looking at him, and he’s never once looked back.”

It’s another several moments before Freddie speaks again, and all he offers up is a quiet, “I’m sorry, Rog.”

Roger doesn’t look at him and pretends that he didn’t hear the comment at all - and this time, Freddie lets the conversation drop. 

Later, after Chrissie leaves and John wanders back in so they can return to recording, Brian crosses the room and holds a large thermos out to Roger. “Do you want this?” he asks. “It’s coffee, Chrissie brought it in, but if I drink it I won’t get any sleep before my class in the morning.”

Brian has a lopsided half-smile on his face, a little tired but still full of the same fond affection that he’s always shown Roger. It’s nothing like the look he gives to Chrissie, but Roger cherishes it nonetheless because this one at least is _his_. 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Roger says with a small grin of his own, one that manages to stay casual even as his heart skips a beat only because he’s had years to perfect it. 

Brian’s smile widens, just a little, just for a moment, before he leaves to grab his guitar. Roger looks down at the thermos in his hands and can see the spot where Brian already took a sip, before he realized it was coffee and not the less-caffeinated tea that he usually prefers at this hour. He stares at it, at that faint mark along the rim, and when he takes a drink he presses his lips over the same spot, letting himself pretend that it could mean something, _anything_ , at all. 

And across the room Freddie watches him with sad, knowing eyes that Roger can’t quite bring himself to meet as he starts tapping out the beat to their next song. 

**_1973_ **

They stagger into the hotel late only to find a mistake with their reservations - instead of their usual arrangement of two rooms each with two single beds, the hotel can only give them a queen bed for one of the rooms. They take the keys with no small amount of resignation, and make their way to elevator where they ride up to their floor in silence, the the four of them looking at each other with varying degrees of exhaustion and none of them eager to volunteer to share a bed at the end of a nightmarishly long day of travel and performing. 

Brian is the first to relent with a small sigh as he says, “I’ll take the queen room. I’m not tired enough to sleep yet and I’ll probably be up reading for some time anyway.”

It’s a practical suggestion, but one that makes the cards fall into place in the worst arrangement possible. Freddie is starting to come down with a head cold, and needs this chance to get some proper rest before their next gig - but Roger, after sharing so many rooms with John, knows that the bassist can’t sleep if any lights are left on at all. 

Roger, the only one who isn’t sick and can fall asleep under almost any conditions, is unfortunately the best choice to share a bed with Brian.

Freddie must realize this too, because his eyes widen slightly and he gives Roger a quick look before opening his mouth to say something - but Roger beats him to the punch and says, “I’ll share with you, Bri. If you don’t mind.”

"I don't mind at all," Brian says with a faint smile.

That seems to settle the matter then, though Freddie keeps giving Roger concerned looks out of the corner of his eye. Ever since finding out about Roger's unrequited crush the singer has done his best to offer up distractions and commiseration when Roger needs it. It’s a gesture that Roger has come to appreciate, but one that’s not always necessary as Roger has gotten better about not letting things bother him like they would have in the past.

He can handle one night in the same bed with Brian. This isn’t going to be a problem for him at all. 

Or so he thinks, until Brian unlocks the hotel room and Roger finally sees the situation he’s gotten himself into. Because the room is _small_ , and the bed takes up almost all the available space. One dresser and two side tables round out the furniture, with no chairs or other lamps except those next to the bed. It’s intimately cramped, especially when Brian squeezes past Roger to set his bag down on the far side of the bed. 

“Bit of a tight fit, but we’ll make it work, right Rog?” Brian says, with a lopsided smile. Roger can see his canines flash in the dim lights and Roger’s mouth goes dry, and he knows that he is _screwed_. 

“Yeah, of course,” Roger says in a slightly strangled voice. He throws his suitcase down onto his side of the bed and quickly rifles through it, grabbing his shaving kit and a pair of pajamas at random before saying, “Going to shower first, d’you mind?” and fleeing to the bathroom before waiting for Brian’s response. 

The thin door separating him from Brian isn’t enough for Roger to calm down. _Bit of a tight fit_ , Brian had said, and Roger’s mind is running in dangerous circles, visions of Brian kneeling behind him, whispering those words in Roger’s ear as he-

“Stop that,” Roger mutters to himself as a he drags a hand down his face. Sharing a bed with Brian is going to be torturous enough without these sorts of thoughts running through Roger’s mind as well, so he steels himself and flicks the water temperature over to be a little colder before stepping inside. 

Roger knows he can’t hide in the relative safety of the bathroom forever, but when he finally leaves he keeps his focus on pretending to sort through his luggage and not on how Brian has to brush close by him on his way to the bathroom himself - and then Roger is alone, staring down the bed that seems to be shrinking before his very eyes. 

He turns off his light and climbs under the covers, and tries to focus on falling asleep before Brian gets out of the shower, but he doesn’t quite manage it. He’s too consumed by Brian, the sound of him banging an arm against wall of the shower, the faint ditty he hums when the water shuts off and he dries himself off, _(the mental image of Brian in the shower, Brian toweling himself off, Brian with wet skin and water dripping off his curls onto Roger’s face as he leans over to kiss him-)_

The bathroom door opens and Roger buries his face in his pillow, keeping his eyes closed and pretending to be fast asleep as Brian quietly calls out, “Rog? Are you still awake?”

When Roger stays quiet and doesn’t answer, Brian sighs softly and busies himself digging through his own suitcase for a moment. And then there’s the rustle of bedcovers, and the creak of the mattress as Brian climbs into bed next to Roger, and another small sigh as Brian gets settled into place with his book. 

It’s quiet in the room now but Roger still can’t sleep. Brian is so close, close enough that Roger almost thinks he can feel the warmth of his body radiating out under the blankets. Or maybe it’s just Roger that’s flushed all over, heat pooling low in his gut and the rest of him burning up with embarrassment at not being able to rein in his emotions. 

It would be _so easy_ to reach for Brian while Roger feigns sleep. To roll over and close the space between their bodies, maybe even brush his arm or shoulder against Brian’s side, because what happens when he’s unconscious can’t be held against him. Except Roger wouldn’t be asleep, of course, and no matter what his heart wants he can’t take something that Brian wouldn’t freely give him if he knew Roger was awake. 

So Roger holds himself apart and still and silent, listening to Brian turn the pages of his book, feeling him shift next to him on the bed, and finally hearing him click off his light before settling down to sleep himself. He rolls away from Roger, putting his back to the drummer, and the slight tension on the blankets breaks the dream that anything more than two friends sharing a bed would happen that night.

Roger listens as Brian’s breathing evens out and is replaced by light snoring, and then it’s just Roger left awake as the night creeps towards the early hours of the morning. Brian moves a little in his sleep but he never closes the distance between their two bodies and never rolls back over to face Roger, and Roger stays facing away from him as well. That, at least, is easier than looking at Brian sleeping next to him when Roger knows that this night will never be what he wants it to be.

**_1975_ **

**__** _I’m sorry, Roger. I’m sorry. I can’t._

Roger thinks he might be sick. Or at least he feels like he should be sick because that seems like the right response here, but his body hasn’t quite caught up with that thought and his mind hasn’t entirely caught up with the reality of the situation, which is that he just kissed Brian… and Brian ran away. 

Roger doesn’t know what else he expected. He doesn’t even really know why he did it, why today was the day when he decided to throw seven years of friendship out the window, but one moment he was watching Brian laugh in the late afternoon sun and the next his lips were on Brian’s, without any memory of having consciously decided to kiss his best friend. 

For a moment, it was perfect. Brian’s lips were soft against his, dry and a little chapped but _soft_ , and when Brian gasped Roger eagerly swallowed it down. Brian’s hands hovered in the air between them, before settling on Roger’s hips - just for a moment, just long enough for Roger’s heart to sing with happiness at finally, _finally_ having everything he’s ever wanted - and then those same hands were pushing Roger away. 

“I’m sorry, Roger,” Brian said, because of _course_ he would apologize. Roger always knew that he would let him down gently, after all. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

And now Roger was alone, having finally ruined his oldest and best friendship, and probably the band as well, and he was _so stupid_ for letting his guard down like that, and-

“Roger? You alright?”

It’s John and he’s giving Roger a look of wary concern, which is fair enough considering the state that Roger must be in. He hasn’t cried, not yet at least, but he can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and he knows his hair must be a mess from the way he’s been pulling it in frustration and anger ever since Brian left. 

“I’m fine,” Roger says but his voice cracks halfway through, and when John raises one unimpressed eyebrow Roger admits, “I’m not. I- I kissed Brian.”

Because what’s the point in keeping the secret now that Brian finally knows the horrible truth? Freddie has known for years, and John is bound to find out anyway when Brian leaves the band because he can’t stand being around Roger anymore-

Roger’s stomach lurches and he presses one hand over his mouth, because he doesn’t actually want to be sick now but that _is_ a sickening thought - a life without Brian in it at all can only be bleak and boring, and Roger doesn’t know how he’s going to bear it. 

“Oh,” John says, drawing Roger back out of his spiral of dark thoughts. “Is that it then?”

Roger gives John an incredulous look. “Is that it- I just told you I kissed Brian, that’s all you can say?”

John shrugs. “I’m honestly more surprised that you two haven’t kissed before this, if I’m being honest. You know he’s been in love with you for years, right?”

The words cut through Roger like a knife, so sharp and precise that if Roger didn’t know John so well he would think the man was deliberately trying to hurt him as much as possible. Still Roger laughs, though it sounds hollow even to his own ears, and he says, “He’s not. I promise you, he’s not.”

“He is,” John says simply. “I’ve watched the two of you, you know. Always staring at each other when you think the other one isn’t looking-”

“Brian doesn’t look at me, I would have seen-”

“Roger,” John cuts in gently. “Did you ever think that, like you, he didn’t want to be caught?”

Roger’s chest feels tight and his heart is beating painfully fast and he doesn’t know what game John is playing at here, but he can’t handle any more of this conversation. “Brian doesn’t feel like _that_ about me,” he says, because he can’t speak the word _love_ aloud, not now, not after all of this. “He _doesn’t_. He wouldn’t have run away if he did.”

“Well, did you tell him how you feel?” John asks. 

“I told you, I kissed him!” Roger snaps. 

“That’s not what I’m asking,” John says. He still sounds as calm as he did at the beginning of the conversation, and Roger almost hates him for being so unruffled when Roger’s entire world is falling to pieces around him. “Did you _say_ something to him? Or did you just kiss him?”

Roger huffs a little and admits, “Well, I kissed him, but-”

“Rog,” John interrupts again. “This is Brian we’re talking about. He probably thought you were looking for a quick shag or something. You need to spell it out for him, not just snog him and hope he knows what you’re feeling.”

Roger opens his mouth to protest again… but then he pauses, and considers what John is saying. Because this isn’t the first time that he’s been told something similar - and he remembers a conversation in a dim pub after a Smile gig so many years ago, the laughter in Tim’s voice when he said, _Mate, you could tell Brian that you fancy him to his face and I still don’t think he’d really understand what you’re saying._

He thinks about the years he spent looking at Brian, and those moments when he thought he saw Brian’s eyes wandering over to him that he dismissed as his own overactive imagination. He thinks about the hugs and casual, friendly touches that he couldn’t let himself believe lingered for a moment longer than they should. He thinks about coffees given to him because Brian knew he’d like them, and gentle fingers holding back his hair as he threw up after a night of drinking, and the warmth of Brian leaning against him in a pub or curled up on the other side of a shared bed… 

And he lets himself wonder, for the first time, if maybe Brian had been holding himself at bay as much as Roger has been.

Roger has spent seven years scared to let himself hope, telling himself that it was impossible for Brian to return his affections, keeping that part of himself hidden away because he thought it would hurt less that way, even though the sting of heartache has never quite managed to fade. But now that hope is rising in his chest, bubbling up until he has no chance of stopping it - but he doesn’t want to stop it, not now, because _god_ , if John is right about this then maybe… _maybe_...

“I have to talk to Brian,” Roger says suddenly, because what does he have to lose? Five minutes ago he thought his friendship with Brian was already ruined beyond repair. Coming clean about his feelings now can’t make that any worse, and the possibility that it might make things _better_ is too tempting for even Roger to resist. 

“You do,” John agrees with a small grin. “I saw him heading back towards the studio-”

That’s enough for Roger to take off, breaking into a jog after a few steps and then into a quick run, and he pushes through the door to the main studio at Ridge Farm out of breath and more than a little disheveled. He locks eyes with Brian, who’s sitting hunched over on the other side of the room and for a moment Roger almost loses his nerve entirely - but this is a conversation years in the making and it’s far too late to go back now.

Roger takes a deep breath and Brian’s fingers grip the edge of his chair so tightly that his knuckles shine white even in the dim lighting of the studio. “Brian,” Roger says at last. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

**_1976_ **

Brian isn’t usually an early waker. He’s a night owl, through and through, always staying up into the late hours of the night and waking up long after everyone else has already gotten on with their day. Roger doesn’t mind so much - he likes having the mornings to himself, if he wants that, but he _also_ likes spending long hours dozing next to Brian, wiling away his day until the other man finally starts to stir and Roger can coax him fully awake with gentle kisses and wandering hands. 

So Roger is, understandably, a little surprised to wake up early on the morning of their first anniversary to find Brian conspicuously absent from their bed. 

He’s a little disgruntled too because he had plans for this anniversary, starting with spoiling Brian with breakfast in bed - something that’s a little difficult to pull off when Brian disappeared while Roger was asleep. He waits for a few minutes, in case Brian just got up to grab a glass of water or take a piss, but when Brian doesn’t return to the bedroom Roger huffs, and gets up to go looking for him. 

It’s not hard to find Brian. As soon as Roger opens the bedroom door he’s greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and warm toast… and something decidedly burnt that has Roger peering into the kitchen with no small amount of wariness. 

Brian is there, as Roger suspected he would be, with the window open and a smoking pan in the sink and an almost-complete tray of breakfast on their small table. Brian is standing in front of the stove, poking a spatula cautiously at a few strips of bacon, as if he expects them to blow up in his face at any moment - and judging from the charred remains of bacon still sitting in the sink, Roger suspects that might have nearly been what happened the first time around. 

Roger could very easily sneak up on Brian, if he wanted to. It’s almost laughably easy to startle Brian when he gets lost in his own head and Roger loves kissing him until he stops grumbling good-natured complaints under his breath, but that’s not what he wants today. So he purposefully makes a bit too much noise as he steps into the kitchen, and Brian turns to greet him with a bright smile. 

“Roger! You’re not supposed to be awake yet!” Brian says with a small laugh. 

Brian’s smile still takes Roger’s breath away, and his laughter still makes Roger’s heart do flips in his chest. It’s been a year but he almost can’t believe that Brian is looking at _him_ like that, with so much love on his face that Roger doesn’t quite know what to do with it all. To think, that if Roger hadn’t bared his heart to Brian after that near-disastrous kiss at Ridge Farm, they might never have ended up here at all. 

“Good morning to you too,” Roger says, just because he knows that will get Brian laughing again - it does, and Roger’s smile only widens at the sound of it. “Why are _you_ awake this early anyway?”

Brian sighs, deflating a little, and turns back to give the bacon another discouraged poke. “I wanted to make you breakfast in bed, but as it turns out I don’t know how to make much besides toast and coffee.”

Roger crosses the small kitchen and wraps an arm around Brian’s waist. The bacon in the pan is soggy and wholly unappetizing but Roger doesn’t comment on that and instead says, “Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You cut up the fruit as well.”

Brian laughs and kisses the top of Roger’s head. “I suppose that’s something, yeah.” He glances down at the pan and sighs again, and asks a bit tentatively, “Any hope of salvaging the bacon?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Roger admits, and reaches out to shut off the burner. “You’re braver than me, though. I wasn’t even going to try to _cook_ you breakfast, I was planning on just running down to the bakery for pastries.”

Brian perks up a little again, a faint smile returning to his face as he asks, “Wait… You were going to-?”

“Give you breakfast in bed as well? Yeah,” Roger tells him. “But _someone_ had to choose today of all days to wake up early and ruin my plans…”

“I’m sorry, Rog,” Brian says with a small laugh and a twinkle in his eye that makes it obvious that he’s not _really_ that sorry about ruining Roger’s plans. “I just wanted to spoil you today. It _is_ our anniversary, you know.”

“Is it? I had no idea,” Roger lies. Brian jabs him in the side with one boney elbow, and Roger yelps and gives him a light shove in response. “Hey! Not fair!”

“Sorry love,” Brian apologizes again, still as playfully insincere as ever.

He leans down to kiss Roger again, but this time Roger tilts his head back and captures his lips with his own so he can kiss Brian properly for the first time that morning. Brian sighs against his mouth and Roger takes a half-step forward, pressing against Brian and letting his hands drop to Brian’s hips, holding him close and deepening the kiss until Brian whimpers faintly against Roger’s mouth and he has to pull back before they get too carried away. 

Brian’s lips are kiss-swollen and it makes Roger want to push him against the counter and keep kissing him for the rest of the morning, suck bruises along the column of his throat where they can’t be hidden, so the whole world knows that Brian is _his._

“I love you,” he says instead, and he’s said it a thousand times before but he’s never said it like this, on their anniversary, with Brian looking at him like Roger hung his precious stars in the sky and with so much love in his heart that he doesn’t know how to begin to put it all into words. 

“I love you too,” Brian says softly, with a smile so tender that it takes Roger’s breath away to see it. “God, Rog, I love you _so much_. You have made me happier over the last year than anyone else ever has, and I- I don’t know what to say. There’s not enough words in the world to describe what you mean to me.”

Roger lets out a small huff and he’s sure he must look like a love-struck fool but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when it’s _Brian_ , not when he finally has everything he ever wanted and when he finally has Brian in his life like this. “Well you certainly didn’t leave enough words for me to follow up after that speech,” he jokes, and it comes out a bit watery with emotion but he doesn’t care about that either. 

Brian laughs softly and takes Roger’s hands in his and says, “I have an idea, then.” And he starts walking backwards, out of the kitchen, gently pulling Roger along with him. “How about I just show you how much you mean to me instead?”

“What about breakfast?” Roger asks, though there’s a grin growing on his face and heat starting to pool in his belly and if Brian tries to backtrack into the kitchen now Roger is pretty sure he’ll just have his way with his boyfriend against the counter anyway. 

“It can wait,” Brian says, kicking the bedroom door open and tugging Roger through. “I think there’s been a change of plans for this morning.”

Roger, laughing, pushes Brian down onto the bed and straddles his hips, leaning over him with a wicked smile. “Yeah, you know what? I think you’re right,” he agrees, and he leans down to kiss Brian again. 


End file.
